


Inmate 79

by SusanMM



Category: seaQuest
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Science Fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-11
Updated: 2013-06-11
Packaged: 2017-12-14 15:21:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/838410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SusanMM/pseuds/SusanMM
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Ben Krieg is shanghai'd, can seaQuest rescue him?<br/>(Loosely based on the Magnificent Seven episode "Inmate 78")</p>
            </blockquote>





	Inmate 79

**Author's Note:**

> This story was originally printed in A SMALL CIRCLE OF FRIENDS #15, which was a "recycling" 'zine. Writers took the plot from an episode of one show, then rewrote it using the characters and setting of a different show. This story was based on the Magnificent Seven episode "Inmate 78," which was a Chris-crunch.

 

**Inmate 79**

a _seaQuest_ story loosely  based on the _Magnificent Seven_ episode "Inmate 78"

Originally published in the 'zine:  A Small Circle of Friends #15

rewritten by Susan M. M.

rated T for language and violence

_for Lyn in Australia and Alison in New England, both Ben Krieg fans_

Many thanks to my beta readers:  Caprice, Jeannie, Antoniette, Jenny, Lorraine, and always, Edward

 

 

**17: 20, Wednesday, November 14, 2018, Las Ballenas Base**

Ben Krieg drank his beer.  It was good to be off the boat and out of uniform.  Hard to call it "shore leave" when he was in an underwater colony, hundreds of meters below the surface, but at least he was off the sub for a few days.  Not that the dark-haired lieutenant didn't love being stationed on _seaQuest_  -- she was the flower of the fleet, a star amongst submarines -- but it was nice to be off-duty.

The bar was nearly empty.  Two men at a corner table, playing cards.  Another man at the end of the bar, nursing a drink.  A barmaid, who looked about Dr. Westphalen’s age, but not half so well-preserved as the _seaQuest_ ’s Chief Science Officer, nor a third as attractive.  A short man approached the pair playing cards; Krieg ignored him.  He glanced at the man in the corner of the bar.  He’d caught the man eying him twice.  The fellow was about Krieg’s age and size, in his thirties, with dark brown skin, but not African-American.  He wore a rumpled gray uniform.  Krieg suppressed a shudder.  From the way the man was looking at him, Krieg had the sensation that the man was undressing him with his eyes.

The short man left the cardplayers and sidled up to Krieg.  “Sir, may I interest you in a quality timepiece?  Resistant to water, resistant to pressure, to – ”

“Sorry, I already have a watch.”  Krieg took another sip of beer.

“Perhaps a present for a friend.  Christmas isn’t all that far off.  I have a lovely selection of ladies’ watches,” he persisted.

Krieg shook his head.  “Not interested.”

“Ah, but my prices are very reasonable.  Too low to resist – ”

The man in gray was observing both of them now, and again, Krieg couldn’t avoid the feeling that he was mentally stripping them.

“Look, pal, what part of 'no' wasn’t in English?” Krieg interrupted him.

“These two causing trouble, Jessie?”  The dark-skinned man who’d been nursing a drink in the corner stepped forward.

The barmaid nodded.  “Sure are, Chan.”

“Causing a public disturbance.”  Chan strode closer to Krieg and the watch salesman.  He wore a tarnished badge.  “Stolen merchandise, I don’t doubt.”  He looked from the watches to Krieg, his beer mug still in his hand.  “Drunk and disorderly.  You’re both under arrest.”

“Look, Officer Chandraputra,” Krieg read the nametag, sounding it out carefully, “I am neither drunk nor disorderly.  I’ve only had half a mug of  beer.  You can test my blood alcohol level:  I’m as sober as a judge.  And other than raising my voice a trifle, I haven’t been disruptive or disorderly.  If I was loud enough to bother the lady,” he turned and nodded at the barmaid, “I apologize.”

“Resisting arrest.”  Chan pulled his gun from its holster.

“There must be some mistake, Officer,” the watch salesman protested, quivering slightly at the sight of the weapon.

“I’ll say there’s a mistake. Las Ballenas security staff wear blue uniforms, not gray.  You don’t work for this base,” Krieg said.  Suddenly he felt a sting in his left arm, like a giant mosquito bite.  He turned and saw Jessie holding an odd looking gun.  The last thing Krieg was aware of before he collapsed to the floor was Jessie firing another tranquilizer dart at the watch salesman.

The pair playing cards never looked up from their game.

*~*~*~*~*~

**18:35,  Wednesday, November 14, 2018, Cargo Sub _Tigress_**

Krieg came to briefly.  He opened his eyes, but everything was out of focus.  He felt the vibrations of a sub beneath him, and knew by the feel of the motion that it wasn’t _seaQuest._   Then he closed his eyes and lost consciousness again.

*~*~*~*~*~

**09:02, Thursday, November 15, 2018, Jericho Mining Colony**

Krieg groaned.  His head hurt, and so did his wrists.  He tried to move his arms, but the handcuffs made that next to impossible.  He sniffed the air.  Recirculated air, but not _seaQuest_ and not Las Ballenas.  The scent was different.  Metal manacles imprisoned his ankles, with three plastic cords, each about the width of his little finger, connecting his left leg to his right.  He could walk, but even if he'd felt less nauseated, he couldn't run.

“Order in the court,” a middle-aged man sitting behind a desk demanded.  “Does the prisoner have legal counsel?”

“Yes, Your Honor.”  Chan stood.  “He’s charged with causing a public disturbance, attempting to buy stolen merchandise, drunk and disorderly behavior, and resisting arrest.”

“Those are very serious charges,” the judge noted. 

Krieg protested, “This man arrested me; it’s a conflict of interest for him to even pretend to represent me in court.  I want a real lawyer, and I want to contact my boat.”

“Counselor, advise your client to hold his tongue,” the judge directed.

“Shut up, fool!” Chan ordered.

“Your wants are not of paramount importance here,” the judge informed him airily.  “However, I could … postpone the trial a month if you were to post a bail of 500 UEO credits.  Do you have that money?”

“Not on me, no,” Krieg replied sarcastically.

“Then how do you plead?” the judge asked.

“I don’t plead.  I don’t recognize the authority of this court,” Krieg told him.

“He pleads guilty,” Chan answered for him.

“I do not!” Krieg protested. 

The gavel banged.  “Order in the court.”

“My name is Lt. Ben Krieg.  I’m a United States citizen and an officer aboard the UEO vessel _seaQuest._   You’ll let me speak to an attorney or the nearest US consulate, and you’ll let me contact my boat, or you’ll regret it.”

Chan exchanged worried glances with the gray-uniformed bailiff standing next to the judge’s desk. 

“Threatening a judge.  That’s contempt of court.”  The judge brought his gavel down on the desk.

“You better believe I’ve got a lot of contempt for this kangaroo court,” Krieg replied.  “Trust me, you do not want to piss off the UEO.”

“I do not permit vulgar language in my courtroom; that’s a second charge of contempt of court.  By the authority vested in me, I sentence you to five years hard labor.  And because of the two charges of contempt of court, no chance of parole.” He brought the gavel down, hard.  “Bring in the next case.”

“What authority?  Vested in you by whom?” Krieg demanded.  “I was arrested – abducted – on Las Ballenas, but he isn’t L. B. security and we’re not even on L. B.”

“Get him out of my courtroom.”

It took Chan and the bailiff to drag Krieg from the room, struggling every centimeter of the way, despite the handcuffs and the ankle-manacles.

“Krieg, Benjamin F.  Lieutenant, UEO Navy.  Serial number 987-35-2187,” he called out.

A few minutes later, the bailiff returned and whispered to the judge.  “Getting into trouble with the UEO might be biting off more than we can chew.  Maybe we should just kill him and hide the body.”

The judge scoffed.  “We have killed him.  We just won’t be burying him for a year or two.”

“Yeah, but _seaQuest_?  She’s supposed to be tough, really tough,” the bailiff pointed out.

“If he’s telling the truth.  Which I doubt.  Did that jackass strike you as officer material?  Doubt he’s even an NCO.  His boat will just assume he went AWOL and forget about him.  Besides,” the judge reminded the bailiff, “nobody’s ever escaped from here.”

*~*~*~*~*~

 **09:33,** **Thursday,** **November 15, 2018, Jericho Mining Colony**

“Two new ones, Warden,” Chan told a middle-aged man who looked enough like the judge to be his brother.  Another guard shoved Krieg and the watch salesman forward.

“Rules are simple,” the warden announced.  “You work, you eat.  You don’t work, you don’t eat.  Do your work, never treat a guard disrespectfully, and don’t fight with the other inmates.  Break any of these rules, and you’ll spend time in the cooler.”

“Watch the dark-haired one.  He’s trouble,” Chan warned.

“Troublemakers don’t last here long.  They either learn to behave themselves, or … they just don’t last long.  I don’t know what your names were out there, and I don’t care.  From now on you’re Inmate Seventy-Nine,” he told Krieg, “and you’re Inmate Eighty,” the warden informed the watch salesman.

“Krieg, Benjamin F.  Lieutenant, UEO Navy.  Serial number 987-35-2187,” he recited.

“Your designation is now Inmate Seventy-Nine,” the warden repeated.

“Krieg, Benjamin F.  Lieutenant, UEO Navy.  Serial number 987-35-2187.”

“You’re right, Chan.  He is trouble,” the warden agreed.  “Take him to the cooler.”

*~*~*~*~*~

**12: 15, Thursday, November 15, 2018, _seaQuest DSV 4600_ , Mess Hall**

“Hey, you guys seen Ben?” asked Lucas Wolenczak.  The sixteen year old computer hacker was the youngest member of the crew of _seaQuest_.

“Not since yesterday, _amigo_ ,” replied Chief Sensor Tech Miguel Ortiz.

“As far as I know, he’s already on Las Ballenas,” added Lt. j. g. Tim O’Neill.  “I know he spent his first two days here working on resupplying the boat, so he could spend the rest of his leave time uninterrupted.”

“Yeah, but I figured he’d come back to the boat now and again.”  The blond teenager frowned.  “The captain won’t let me go to the base unsupervised.  I was hoping Ben would go with me.”

“And that’s different from going unsupervised how?” Ortiz teased.

Lucas scowled, but didn’t deny that he’d counted on Krieg giving him a very long leash while visiting Las Ballenas.  _seaQuest DSV 4600_ had been built with both government funds and private donations.  Lucas’ father had been one of the biggest financial supporters of the experimental submarine, and had used his pull with the UEO to foist his son on the crew, in the hopes of teaching him some discipline.  Unfortunately for Lucas’ youthful dreams and schemes, the captain took that responsibility seriously.

O’Neill and Ortiz exchanged glances and came to a silent consensus.   

“We have to go back on-duty, as soon as we finish lunch.  But our shifts will be over at fifteen-hundred, and we were going to go to L. B. then.  You can tag along with us,” O’Neill offered.

Lucas’ blue eyes shone with relief.  “Thanks, guys.”

*~,*~*~*~*~

**10:00, Friday, November 16, 2018, Jericho Mining Colony**

Krieg felt the rough stone walls of the pit for the hundredth time.  Maybe it was the two hundredth -- he hadn't been keeping track.  His hands were scraped and bloody from his attempts to climb out.  His body was bruised from climbing and falling.  He was chilled to the bone; the stone pit was cold and damp.  His headache from the tranquilizer dart had faded, to be replaced by a new, equally annoying hunger headache.  He hadn't eaten in -- how long?  Twenty-four hours?  Forty-eight?  He had no way to judge how long he had been trapped.

"Too bad that old guy with the rat isn't here.  I'd eat Arthur raw," Krieg muttered.

"Seventy-Nine!"

Krieg looked up when he heard the shout.

"Ready to come up and do some honest work?"

"Naw, I'm enjoying the break," he yelled back.  "It's giving me a chance to catch up on my technical manuals."

"Leave the smart aleck down there for another day.  He gets hungry enough, he'll mind his manners," Krieg heard a second voice say.

"Me and my big mouth," Krieg muttered.  Swallowing his pride, he called up, "I'm ready to come up."

"Sir," the first voice shouted down.

"I'm ready to come up, sir," Krieg recited dutifully.   

A rope ladder was lowered down.  Krieg reached for it and began climbing.  It was hard going:  his muscles were weak.  The nylon of the rope ladder irritated his sore hands.  And his ankles were still bound by the metal manacles with the three plastic cords between them.

“Krieg, Benjamin F.  Lieutenant, UEO Navy.  Serial number 987-35-2187,”  he muttered under his breath.  He repeated it over and over again, like a mantra, as he climbed.  When he reached the top, the two gray-clad guards grabbed him and pulled him away from the pit.  Closing his blue eyes, Krieg took a deep breath.  The air here was warmer than the pit, and far less noxious.  "Inmate Seventy-Nine reporting for duty ... sir."

One of the guards slapped him.  Krieg did his best to roll with the punch.  He didn't hit back; he didn't dare.  Any defiance would get him thrown back into the cooler, and he already knew he couldn't escape from there.  Out here ... he might be able to escape, or at least get a message through to _seaQuest._

*~*~*~*~*~

**14:10, Friday, November 16, 2018, _seaQuest DSV 4600,_ Sea Deck**

Lucas splashed at the water in the moon pool.  There was no answer.  He picked up the vocoder and spoke into it.  “Darwin.  Hey, Darwin.”

“He’s not on board,” Lucas heard a voice say behind him.

The hacker turned and saw Nathan Bridger behind him.  The gray-haired, gray-eyed man was both the designer and the captain of _seaQuest._

“There’s a pod of dolphins nearby.  Darwin decided to swim out and make friends,” Bridger explained.

“When Darwin goes out swimming, how do you know he’ll come back?” Lucas asked.

“I don’t.”

“But what if he decided to join that pod?  What if he doesn’t come back?” Lucas asked.

Bridger shrugged.  “We take that risk every time he goes out.  You ever see the T-shirt that says ‘if you love something, let it go.  If it comes back, it’s yours.  If it doesn’t, it never was’?”

Lucas nodded.  “Yeah.  I always thought it was stupid.”

“A little saccharine, perhaps.  I don’t know if I’d go as far as stupid.  Darwin isn’t just my pet or my research subject,” Bridger explained, though he had thought of the dolphin that way in the past.  “He’s my friend.  What kind of friend would I be if I kept him locked up against his will?”

“But if he doesn’t come back?” Lucas persisted.

“I’d miss him,” Bridger confessed.  “But it’s got to be his decision to stay or go.”

“Dr. Hokstad says it’s not unusual for dolphins to change pods several times.”  Lucas glanced up at the captain, waiting for him to confirm or deny what the marine biologist had told him.

Bridger agreed.  “She’s right.  Helps prevent in-breeding.  But for the moment, Darwin thinks of _seaQuest_ as his pod.  He’s always come back so far.”

“ _seaQuest_ doesn’t have any pretty female dolphins.  Bet that pod does.”

Bridger grinned.  “Why do you think Darwin decided to go introduce himself?”

Lucas forced a grin, although he didn’t feel it.

“Actually, I’d love for Darwin to bring some friends home with him sometime.  I’d like to see how your vocoder works on other dolphins.  Dolphin clicks and squeals can be just as idiosyncratic as any human language.” 

“That would be cool,” Lucas agreed.  “Might let me increase the lexicon database.”  He had designed the vocoder, which attempted to translate Darwin’s whistles, clicks, and squeals into English.  “Um, speaking of females of your own species … some of the hydroponicists and oceanographers on Las Ballenas have families.  Some of them have teenagers, and well, there’s this arcade where they hang out when they get out of school ….”

“And?” Bridger prompted.

“And I’d really like to go back.  Except somebody said I couldn’t go on the base by myself,” Lucas reminded him.

“If you can get someone to go with you, you’ve got permission to go,” Bridger told him.

“Why can’t I go by myself?” Lucas asked, not quite whining.

“Because I’m the captain, and I said so.”  Doing his best to ignore the puppy dog eyes that Lucas was giving him, he suggested, “What about Ensign Moeller?  He’s not much older than you are.”

“Yeah, and that’s why he won’t have anything to do with me, and insists I call him Ensign Moeller instead of Hans.”

Bridger raised an eyebrow in silent query.

“He’s the next youngest on the boat.  He’s afraid if he hangs out with me, everyone will think he’s a kid, too,” Lucas explained.

Bridger nodded.  On most of the boats he’d served on or commanded in his thirty years in the US Navy, there were always seamen fresh out of boot camp, some of them not even shaving yet.  But _seaQuest_ , being an experimental prototype, had only the best of UEO’s men and women serving aboard.  No raw recruits.  Many, like Chief Petty Officer Ortiz, had been lured into the UEO from their homeland’s fleets by being offered promotions they otherwise wouldn’t have received for years.  “What about Ben?”

“On shore leave.  Haven’t seen him in a day or two,” Lucas complained.

“Tim?”

“He and Miguel went with me yesterday.  I don’t wanna be pestering them all the time.”

“I’ve only been on base long enough to make a courtesy call on L. B.’s mayor.  Don’t suppose you’d want to hang around with an old codger like me?” Bridger offered.

“Any chance you’d drop me off at the arcade and pick me up later?” Lucas asked hopefully.

“No, but I could bring a book and wait for you.”

“Um, it gets a little loud.”

“Which is why we’d only be staying an hour or so.  Dr. Westphalen would skin me alive if I let you wreck your hearing.”  He smiled at the boy.  “After that, I’ve got a standing invitation to visit the hydroponics labs.  We could grab some dinner and do a little sightseeing.” 

It wasn’t what the hacker wanted, but it was probably the best he was going to manage.  “Yeah, sure.”  Then he remembered his manners.  Dr. Westphalen was a lot stricter about courtesy than his parents were.  “Thanks, Captain.”

Bridger reached out to tousle his hair.  He realized with a jolt of surprise that Lucas was going to be taller than he was soon.  “Any time, Kiddo, any time.”

*~*~*~*~*~

**14:10, Friday, November 16, 2018, Jericho Mining Colony**

"Don't they ever feed us?" Krieg whispered to Inmate Eighty.

"Twice a day, breakfast and dinner," the watch salesman whispered back.

Krieg hadn't eaten since lunch on Wednesday.  He tried to remind himself that he'd been hungrier during SEAL training, but that did nothing to help the emptiness in his belly and the weakness in his muscles now.  Besides, he'd washed out of SEAL training halfway through. "Fasting is good for the soul and the waistline."  He lifted his pickaxe.

"No talking!" one of the guards yelled.

"Yessir," Krieg muttered, trying to strike a balance between obeying the order and letting the guard know he'd heard it.  He'd been in the US Navy before switching over to the UEO; he had no trouble saying sir to men he didn't think deserved it.  His job was to escape, and to do that, he had to survive.  And his best hope of survival was doing whatever was necessary to avoid being thrown back in the cooler.  He lifted the pickaxe and brought it down again, but he couldn't manage to dig hard.  He was lucky he managed to dig at all, in his condition.  The guards seemed to realize that, and as long as he continued to make a token effort, left him alone.

He'd managed to learn a little from the other prisoners in hastily whispered conversations.  They were in an underwater mining colony, digging for tungsten.  Safety equipment was non-existent, as were power tools.  The prisoners were expected to dig with primitive equipment.  There were only twenty-three prisoners.  Inmates One through Fifty-Seven had died.  Most from overwork and malnutrition, but a few had been killed by the guards.  When the workforce got low, they shanghai'd new miners.  As far as the others knew, no one had ever escaped, nor lived long enough to finish their sentence and be released.

Krieg lifted the pickaxe again.  He had something the other prisoners didn't.  He had Nathan Bridger and the _seaQuest_ on his side.  Captain Bridger would move Heaven and Hell to protect his crew.  Once the captain knew where he was, he'd be rescued.  He just had to stay alive until Bridger could find him. 

*~*~*~*~*~

**17:15, Friday, November 16, 2018, Las Ballenas Base**

Nathan Bridger glanced up from his book to check on Lucas.  The boy was scoring an impossibly high score on a videogame, and the local teenagers were surrounding him, some watching him with envy, others cheering him on.  Bridger allowed himself a half-smile.  It was good for Lucas to be with people his own age.  Just because he was a genius didn't mean he should spend all his time with scientists twice his age. 

Most people would consider a submariner's life an unnatural one.  Spending months at a time beneath the waves, crammed in a tiny space with the same group of people, never seeing new faces, never breathing fresh air or walking on green grass.  Nathan Bridger had chosen that life, as had his crew.  But Lucas had been forced aboard _seaQuest_ by a father who'd never made time for him, then seemed surprised that the boy had attitude problems.  The kid should be up-world, playing baseball, learning how to drive, taking pretty girls to the movies.  A visit to a video arcade in L. B. was a poor substitute. 

So even though he'd nearly finished rereading Richard Castle's Heat Wave, and even though the lemonade was far too sweet for his taste, Bridger resolved to give Lucas a little more time before suggesting they go to dinner. 

*~*~*~*~*~

**18:05, Friday, November 16, 2018, Jericho Mining Colony**

Krieg forced himself to eat slowly.  He knew if he gobbled his dinner, he’d throw up.  It was only potato soup – and not very good soup at that -- but after forty-eight hours without eating, it was ambrosia.

If he’d known that Captain Bridger, at that very moment, was eating lasagna and drinking a glass of Chianti, he’d probably have died of jealousy.

“Any chance of seconds?” Krieg whispered.

Inmate Sixty-Four shook his head.  “Nope.”

“Given the quality of the food, be grateful,” another prisoner advised in a whisper.

“What happens after supper?” Krieg asked.  He doubted the bedroom accommodations were anything to brag about, but he was too tired to care.  It had to be better than the cooler.

“Couple more hours of digging.”

“Just jim-dandy,” Krieg muttered.  “Anybody ever manage to break out of here?”

Sixty-Four shook his head again.

“Any way to get a message to the outside?” Krieg persisted.

“Think we’d be here if there was?” Inmate Seventy-One retorted.  “If you can’t pay the bail, then the judge tosses you in here and his brother works you to de- ”  He stopped in mid-word as he saw the guards approaching.

Two gray-uniformed men dragged a short, stocky man into the mess hall.  The raven-haired prisoner wore the same orange jumpsuit as Krieg and the others.  Like them,  his feet were manacled, three half-meter long plastic cords connecting the left ankle-cuff to the right.  A door to an inner office opened, and the warden stepped out.  Until he closed the door behind him, wonderful odors wafted out of the room:  black market Argentinean beef, fresh bread, corn with butter – items that had never been seen in the prisoners’ mess hall.

“Why are you interrupting my dinner?” the warden demanded.

“New prisoner, sir,” one of the guards replied.

“Well, that explains why my beloved brother wasn’t at dinner.  Our rules here are simple,” the warden told the new prisoner.  “Follow them, and you’ll have no trouble.  Break them, and you’ll regret it.”

The new man looked at the prisoners eating their dinners.  “I ain’t eating that slop.”

“No, you’re not.  You haven’t earned it yet.”  The warden looked around, and his eye fell on Krieg.  “Inmate Seventy-Nine, tell Inmate Eighty-One what the first rule is.”

“Yes, sir.  You work, you eat.  You don’t work, you don’t eat.” Krieg kept his eyes on the warden as he scraped the last little bit of soup out of his bowl.  

“What happens to prisoners who refuse to work, Seventy-Nine?”

“They spend time in the cooler, sir.”  Krieg kept his voice even.  A disrespectful tone might land him back in the cooler.

“Tell him the other rules, Seventy-Nine,” the warden ordered.

Krieg thought a moment.  “Do your work, respect the guards, and don’t fight with the other inmates.”  He paused just a moment, then added, “Sir.”

 “And if you break any of these rules?” the warden asked in a coaxing tone.

“You’ll spend time in the cooler, sir.”  Krieg tried not to think about how much he wanted to punch the warden’s nose and break it.

“You planning to go back to the cooler, Seventy-Nine?” the warden asked.

Krieg hesitated before answering.  If he said ‘no, sir,’ then the warden might remind him that he was in no position to be making decisions, and send him back to the cooler just to remind him of his place.  If he acknowledged that he didn’t control whether or not he went back to the cooler, well, that was just more humble pie than he could manage to swallow.  “Once was enough, sir.”

The warden nodded approvingly.  He turned to the new prisoner.  “Seventy-Nine was just as feisty as you were, a few days ago.  I broke him.  I’ll break you.”

Inmate Eighty-One swallowed uncomfortably.  “I want a vidlink call.  Maybe – maybe my family could raise the five hundred credits.”

“When you address me or any guard in this facility, you use the proper appellation: sir.”

“Appell-what?” Eighty-One asked.

One of the guards slapped him.  "When you speak to the warden or a guard, you say 'sir'!"

"Just say 'yes, sir'," Krieg mouthed silently, hoping the new prisoner could read lips.  "You don't have to mean it, just say it."

Maybe he caught Krieg's silent message, maybe he decided discretion was the better part of valor.  "Yes, sir," Inmate Eighty-One muttered.

The warden permitted himself a half-smile.  Prisoners in the cooler dug no tungsten.  "Breakfast is in twelve hours.  Let's hope you do enough work by then to earn it."  

The guards waited until the warden went back to his office, then shoved the new man down on the bench next to the other prisoners.  The few who had not finished their soup guarded it jealously, lest Inmate Eighty-One try to take it from them, slop or not. 

"Krieg, Benjamin F.  Lieutenant, UEO Navy.  Serial number 987-35-2187," he whispered.  "Better known as Inmate Seventy-Nine to my friends.  What's your name?”

"Cary Hiroyuki.   You're UEO?  I thought you guys were supposed to be too tough to break."

"Bent, not broken.  I couldn't escape from the cooler.  I might be able to escape from here."  Krieg thought a moment.  He knew he couldn't escape alone, but he also knew in a place like this, there was no honor among thieves.  Any of the prisoners might squeal on him if they thought it would bring them rewards from the warden, like extra rations or immunity from the cooler.  He decided it was safer not to mention his ace in the hole.

Once his seventy-two hour leave was up, Cmdr. Ford would be looking for him, if only to put him on report for being AWOL.  And once they realized that something was wrong, that he wasn't just sleeping off a hangover, then _seaQuest_ would come looking for him.  He just had to survive long enough for them to find him.

*~*~*~*~*~

**19:23, Friday, November 16, 2018, _seaQuest DSV 4600,_ Medbay**

Dr. Westphalen frowned.  She’d asked Lt. Krieg to get her some tryptophan.  The pharmacy on Las Ballenas had sent tyramine.   She paged Krieg.  “Lt. Krieg, please report to Medbay.  Lt. Krieg to Medbay, please.”  She pronounced the title 'leftenant,' in the British style.

When twenty minutes later, he still had not appeared, Dr. Westphalen called the Bridge.  “Cmdr. Ford, do you know where Ben Krieg is?”

“Shore leave, as far as I know,” Commander Jonathan Ford replied.  “One moment, please, Doctor.”   Ford quickly checked the boat’s computer.  “He signed off the boat Wednesday evening, and hasn’t been back since.  Not due back until tomorrow.”

“Well, I need him.  Can’t you contact him?” Dr. Westphalen, the sub’s Chief Medical Officer, asked.

“No promises, but I can try,” Ford told her.

Dr. Westphalen bit back the unladylike word she wanted to use.  “Thank you.”  She turned off her PAL.

Up on the Bridge, Ford gave orders to the Sea Deck Duty Officer to let Krieg know that Westphalen wanted him as soon as he returned.  He then put the matter out of his mind.  With Bridger having dinner on the base with Lucas, command of _seaQuest_ was his, at least temporarily.   And knowing Ben Krieg, he didn’t expect the Supply and Morale Officer to return to the boat until he’d milked the last possible moment out of his shore leave. 

*~*~*~*~*~

**08:43, Saturday, November 17, 2018, Jericho Mining Colony**

 Krieg paused to wipe the sweat from his forehead.  He’d been digging for over two hours, and he was ready to quit for the day.  Suddenly he felt the muzzle of a rifle in his back.

“Back to work,” the guard growled.

Krieg thought.  If he whirled around quickly, he could grab the rifle, maybe use the momentum to shove the guard away, maybe whack him with the rifle.  But could he fire at the other guards before they shot him, or shot some of the other prisoners? 

“Yessir,” Krieg muttered.  He raised the pickaxe again.  He couldn’t do anything that would endanger the other prisoners.  He couldn’t do anything that would risk getting him thrown back into the cooler.  All he could do was wait.  Eight more hours until he was AWOL.  How long after that, he wondered, before Captain Bridger realized he was missing rather than late and started a manhunt for him?

There was one thing he’d learned at Annapolis, that he’d had confirmed serving aboard _seaQuest._   You could count on a Bridger.  Bobby Bridger had never let him down.  He knew Bobby’s father wouldn’t let him down, either.

*~*~*~*~*~

**18: 07, Saturday, November 17, 2018, _seaQuest DSV 4600_ , Mess Hall**

Kristin Westphalen, MD, Ph. D., chewed her shark salad.  It was delicious:  bite-size chunks of grilled shark, marinated with lemon, mixed into a lettuce and spinach salad with a citrus vinaigrette. 

“Hello, Kristin.  May I join you?”

The redhead looked up to see Captain Bridger standing there, a tray in his hand.  "Nathan."  She smiled at him.   "Be my guest."

As captain, he could dine in the ward room with his officers, or have a meal served to him in his quarters.  But several times a week he ate in the crew mess hall, just to keep an eye on things.  He prided himself on being accessible to his men and women.

Westphalen glanced at his tray.  A cup of black coffee, a plate of fish and chips.  "You know, you're supposed to eat those with vinegar, not ketchup."

"If you Limeys want to call them chips and eat them with vinegar, fine.  We Yanks call them French fries and eat them with ketchup," he informed her.  

"Wasn't it George Bernard Shaw who said America and England were two countries divided by a common language?" the doctor asked.

Bridger nodded, and bit into a fry.  When he'd finished chewing, he asked, "Will your staff be ready for us to weigh anchor tomorrow?"

It was unusual for _seaQuest_ to stay in one place so long, but Dr. Raicevic, his botanist, had been consulting with the hydroponicists on Las Ballenas by vidlink for months, and had requested to review some experimental results in person.  It had given Bridger a chance to offer leave to the crew.

Westphalen, who was both Chief Medical Officer and Chief Science Officer, replied, "My people will be ready, but I'm not.  I need Krieg's assistance with some pharmaceutical supplies that are incorrect.  I can't get the pharmacy to admit their error; they insist on dealing with Krieg in person."

Bridger raised an eyebrow.  Krieg was a master of wheeling, dealing, and 'midnight requisitioning.'   "Krieg hasn't been able to solve the problem yet?"

"He's still on leave, and as far as I know, still unaware of the problem," Westphalen said.

Bridger glanced at his watch, then reached for his PAL.  "Launch Bay."

"Launch Bay, Ensign Castle," the reply came through his Personal Audio Link.

"Is Lt. Krieg signed aboard?"

There was a brief delay while the ensign checked the log.  "No, sir."

"Tell him to report to Cmdr. Ford as soon as he comes aboard," Bridger ordered.

"Aye, sir."

"Bridger out."  He replaced his PAL on his belt.  "Looks like Ben is enjoying his shore leave a little too much.  He's not back yet."

"Oh, dear.  Does that mean you're going to court-martial him?" the doctor asked.

"No, but if you need some inventorying done or any test tubes scrubbed out, I just may lend him to you for a few days," Bridger replied.

*~*~*~*~*~

**18:07, Saturday, November 17, 2018, Jericho Mining Colony**

Ben Krieg couldn't remember ever being so tired or sore in his entire life, not even when he was a plebe at Annapolis.  He forced himself to eat his macaroni and cheese slowly, knowing there wouldn't be anything else to eat for another twelve hours.  Breakfast had been oatmeal; so far he hadn't been given anything to eat that required a knife or a fork, just spoons.  Harder to stab the guards with a plastic spoon.

*~*~*~*~*~

**20:40, Saturday, November 17, 2018, Jericho Mining Colony**

Krieg raised his pickaxe and brought it down again.  He raised the pickaxe and brought it down -- but this time, he tried to bring it down on the plastic cords connecting his ankle manacles.  He missed, again.  Hitting the plastic cords was tricky; so far he hadn't done more than knick them. 

"Guard sees that, you're back in the cooler," one of the other miners whispered.

Krieg didn't reply. 

All around him, men dug.  The pickaxes went up and down in a cacophony of dull thuds.  Krieg waited a few moments, then tried again to hit the plastic cords.  Cutting through one would be difficult.  Cutting through all three, especially without the guards noticing, would be next to impossible.  But he'd never hear the end of it, if his shipmates found out he just twiddled his thumbs and waited to be rescued.  He had to at least try to escape, to get a message out, to do something other than meekly dig tungsten.

Suddenly one of the other men screamed.

Krieg turned his head.  So did everyone else in earshot.  Krieg's blue eyes widened at the sight.  Inmate Seventy-Three howled in pain, the pickaxe embedded in his left leg.

"Corpsman!" Krieg yelled.  Years of navy training took over.  He hobbled to the wounded man as fast as he could.  "Get a doctor!  I need a first aid kit, now!"  He gently helped Seventy-Three down.  "Easy, pal, take it easy.”  Krieg tore at the pant leg to get a better look at the wound.

"Back to work, both of you!" one of the guards growled.

"He needs a doctor," Krieg retorted.

The guard aimed his rifle.  "A scratch isn't an excuse for goldbricking."

"Scratch?  If you don't get him to a hospital, he may die," Krieg told him.  "Now get me that first aid kit."

A second guard moved closer.  They were used to drunken miners and sailors who were shang-hai'd, falsely accused and convicted, and set to work before the drugs wore off.  Such men were easily intimidated.  They weren't used to Annapolis graduates.  Krieg had been the class clown from the day he started kindergarten until the day he earned his master's degree at the University of Florida.  He was also a navy officer, trained to cope with a crisis, trained to assume command in an emergency.  Even tired, hungry, and sore, he was a different caliber of man than the guards were used to, and he'd been pushed around as far as he could take.

As the first guard covered him with his rifle, the second guard reached for the pickaxe handle.

Krieg reached out a hand to stop him.  "That's probably the only thing keeping him from bleeding to death.  Wait till a doctor can remove it."  Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to add the proper appellation in as respectful a tone as he could manage.  "Sir."

The wounded man continued screaming and moaning.  Krieg didn't recognize the language.

"Nearest doctor's back on L. B."  The guard's tone made it clear that Las Ballenas was too far to bother going for an inmate.

"You've at least got to have a first aid kit," Krieg persisted.

The guard spat on the floor, only centimeters from Inmate Seventy-Three.  "Not for the likes of him.  He works or he dies.  Same for you."

The uneven tapping of the pickaxes had stopped.  Every prisoner was watching instead of digging.

The guard pulled the trigger.  The bullet nicked a teeny crater in the rough-hewn stone floor.  The speck of rock it dug flew up, grazing Krieg's unshaven cheek.  "Ain't warning you again.  Back to work."  He reached for the pickaxe handle.

"Wait a minute!" Krieg pleaded.  "Let me at least give him a fighting chance.  He tore at Seventy-Three's tattered pant leg, removing the bottom fifteen centimeters.  Then he tore that in half.  He folded and refolded it one half, then nodded to the guard.

The guard didn't bother to gently ease the pickaxe out of the man's leg.  He just pulled up.  Inmate Seventy-Three shrieked.  Krieg laid the folded square of cloth over the wound, praying it would stop the bleeding, praying that the man was up to date on his tetanus shots.  Then he used the rest of the cloth to secure the makeshift pad in place.

"What have we here?"

Krieg looked up to see the warden standing two meters away.

"You disobeyed a guard's orders, Seventy-Nine.  That's a very serious offense."  The warden tsked disapprovingly.

"This man needs medical attention.  Sir."  Krieg sneered the title, putting every milligram of contempt he felt into the syllable.

"Seems to me he's already got a bandage, Seventy-Nine," the warden observed.

"I'm not a number.  Neither is he."  Krieg jerked his thumb down at Seventy-Three, whose bandage was already turning red as the blood seeped through.  "None of us are.  My name is Ben Krieg.  Lt. Benjamin Franklin Krieg."  He bit his lip.  He wanted to shout his name, rank, and serial number, but making grand gestures wouldn't help.  Neither would losing his temper.  As calmly and matter of factly as if he were reporting to Ford, he repeated, "This man needs medical attention, sir."

The warden didn't say anything for a moment.   "If he's hurt that badly, then I suppose we can let him rest for a bit.  And if you're so determined to play Nurse Nancy, then you can take care of him."  He turned to the guard.  "Throw them both in the cooler."

*~*~*~*~*~

**22: 14, Saturday, November 17, 2018, _seaQuest DSV 4600_ , Captain's Quarters**

Bridger lay on his bed, reading a book.  The vidlink buzzed.  He reached over and turned on the screen.  "Bridger."

"Sir, I hate to disturb you this late, but Lt. Krieg is now five hours late from his leave," Ford reported.

Bridger frowned.  "When is he technically due back on duty?"

"Tomorrow at 08:00, sir.  His turn as Sea Deck Duty Officer."

Bridger thought a moment.  Krieg was late in returning to the boat, but not yet late for duty.  "Well, it doesn't merit keelhauling, but inform him that he'll be reporting to me tomorrow morning."

"Aye, sir," Ford agreed.

"Anyone else AWOL?"

"No, sir," Ford told him.  "Everyone else is signed back on board, and almost everyone else was back on time."

"Almost?" Bridger repeated.

"Dr. Levin and Lucas, sir."

Bridger closed his eyes.  Joshua Levin was part of the science staff; they weren't used to military discipline.  "I'll let Dr. Westphalen deal with Dr. Levin.  As for Lucas, I'll have a word with him tomorrow, too.  Anything else, Commander?"

"No, sir.  Just wanted to keep you informed," the XO told him.

"Thank you.  Good night, Jonathan."

"Good night, sir."

Bridger turned off the vidlink. Keelhauling was too extreme, but he'd need to do something to convince Krieg as to the importance of timeliness.  Too bad they used instant mashed potatoes in the galley:  a day or two of peeling potatoes might have done nicely.

*~*~*~*~*~

**07: 42, Sunday, November 18, 2018, _seaQuest DSV 4600_ , Bridge **

Captain Bridger glanced at his watch.  Lt. Krieg still had not returned to _seaQuest_ , and he was due to relieve Lt. Gutierrez in the Launch Bay in seventeen minutes.  Military courtesy dictated that Krieg show up at 7:45, so Gutierrez could give her report to Krieg and leave when her shift was over, instead of having him show up at eight on the dot, and have her update him when she should have been off-duty.

There was no sign of Krieg at 7:45.  Bridger frowned.

No sign of him at 7:50.  Bridger tapped his fingers on the arm of his chair.

At 8:01, Bridger sent the navigator, Lt. LeBeau, down to the Launch Bay to relieve Gutierrez.  He mulled over appropriate, non-fatal punishments for Krieg.  "Chief Crocker."

The sub's Security Chief left his post and walked over to the command chair.  "Aye, Cap?"

"Lt. Krieg is AWOL.  Find him and fetch him back," Bridger ordered.

"Aye, sir."  Senior Chief Petty Officer Manilow Crocker thought a moment.  "Lucas likely to be up and about at this hour, or you think he'd be sleeping in on a Sunday morning?  It could save me a lot of legwork if I got him to help me."

"What do you need Lucas for?" Bridger asked.

Chief Crocker winked.  "Cap, if you won't ask, I won't tell."

Bridger nodded.  There were times a good officer knew not to ask a crafty NCO too many questions.  "If you need Lucas, he's yours.  Wake him up if you have to; the boy needs to earn his keep."

"Roger that."  Crocker started to walk toward the Bridge's clam doors.

"And Chief -- " Bridger called after him.

"If he gives you any guff, just remind him he was late getting back to the boat last night.  If he's sufficiently helpful to you, I might forget to discuss that with him."

*~*~*~*~*~

**08: 14, Sunday, November 18, 2018, _seaQuest DSV 4600_ , Mammal Engineering **

Chief Crocker stood in the corridor, banging on Lucas' cabin door.  "Lucas?"

There was no answer.

His fist pounded on the door again.  "C'mon, kid, wake up."

"I am awake," Crocker heard a voice behind him say.  He turned around, and there was Lucas Wolenczak, wearing a rainbow-striped bathrobe.   His wet blond hair was plastered to his scalp.  "What's up?"  The slightly damp teenager reached past the older man to open his cabin door.

Crocker shut the door behind them before asking:  "You familiar with facial recognition software?"

"Sure."  Lucas reached for a comb and starting getting his hair into some semblance of order.

"Lt. Krieg's not back from leave yet, and the captain wants me to go find him.  It'll save a lot of time if you hack into the base's computers, see where the security cameras saw him last."

"Is Ben in trouble?" Lucas asked uneasily.

"Sooner we get him back on the boat, less trouble he'll be in," Crocker hedged.

Lucas sat down at his own computer terminal and punched a few keys.  First, he had to check _seaQuest_ 's database.  He was pretty sure they already had facial software recognition installed.  If so, that would save him time.  He wouldn't need to hack into the FBI to "borrow" their software.  The first time he'd hacked into the FBI's computers, he'd gotten caught, and only the fact he'd been eleven had kept him out of jail.  The last few times ... well, as far as he knew, the FBI didn't know he'd come visiting.

Meanwhile, Crocker glanced around the cubicle.  It was decorated in teenage mess and looked like someone had robbed an electronics supply store and hidden the loot in here.  Nearly a third of the starboard-side bulkhead was the Plexiglas of Darwin's aquatube.  He looked for a place to sit that wasn't buried under cybernetic components or dirty laundry, and finally found a clear spot on the bed.  "If the skipper doesn't want to have Krieg scrubbing out the head with his toothbrush," the bearded NCO muttered under his breath, "having him come here and clean up might do for punishment detail."

*~*~*~*~*~

**10:06, Sunday, November 18, 2018, _seaQuest DSV 4600_ , Mammal Engineering **

Lucas looked up at Chief Crocker.  "We've got to show the captain this."

Crocker nodded.  "Sure do.  One thing first, though."  He glanced pointedly at Lucas' bathrobe.  "Maybe you ought to get dressed first."

*~*~*~*~*~

**10:16, Sunday, November 18, 2018, _seaQuest DSV 4600_ , Ward Room **

"Two questions:   what have you got, and have you had breakfast yet?" Bridger demanded.

Lucas tried not to blush.  He hated being so predictable to the grown-ups around him -- certainly his parents had never gotten to know him well enough that he'd been predictable to them -- but the captain knew perfectly well that when he got caught up in a computer project, he sometimes forgot to eat.  "Uh, not yet."

"Donuts on the table, and orange juice," Bridger indicated.  "Well?"

"I hacked into the security cameras on Las Ballenas, looking for Ben's last known location.  He hasn't shown up on any camera since Wednesday evening," Lucas said as he chewed.

"Don't talk with your mouth full," Bridger reminded him automatically.  "Is it possible he just wasn't near any cameras?  They're not everywhere, after all."

"Statistically unlikely.  He should have been picked up three or four times every day.  The last sighting of him was Wednesday, about quarter past five."

"17:14," Crocker corrected automatically.

"He went into a bar.  He never came out," Lucas said.

"He could have used a back door, or rented a room there," Bridger suggested, trying to play Devil's advocate.

"Maybe," Crocker agreed.  "But even on shore leave, I've never spent three whole days in a bar."

"Do you think he's hurt?" Lucas asked, trying (and failing) to hide the note of anxiety in his voice.

Bridger thought it more likely that Krieg had found a pretty barmaid and was keeping her company, but he didn't want to say that to a minor.     "L. B. has a hospital.  If one of our people were admitted, they would have notified us."

"Already checked the hospital," Crocker reported.  "No John Does admitted while we've been docked here.  No dead bodies found, either."

"Las Ballenas is mostly a scientific base, but it's also the hub for several mining operations and aquaculturalists.  Shops, a hospital, bars, churches.  They're the resupply and R&R people for every underwater colony, mine, or farm in a hundred mile radius," Bridger reminded them.  "Could Krieg have gotten off Las Ballenas without being seen?"

Crocker shook his head.  "It's a civilian base, so they don't have cameras everywhere, but there's plenty of cameras watching all the docking bays.  Anybody comes in or out, it should be recorded."

"So if Krieg didn't leave the base, but hasn't been seen on the base since Wednesday, where is he?"

"Don't know, Cap, but I sure plan to find out," Crocker informed him.  "With your permission, I'd like to take a team to his last known location and start looking there."

Bridger nodded.  "Gather your people."

"Can I -- " Lucas began.

"No," Bridger and Crocker said simultaneously.

"It's 'may I' and no, you may not," Bridger continued. 

"But Ben's my friend," Lucas complained, not quite whining.

"No way I'm taking a boy your age into a neighborhood like that.  If your mama didn't skin me alive, Dr. Westphalen would," Crocker told him. 

"You've done your part of the job," Bridger told Lucas gently.  "Now let Chief Crocker do his part."

Lucas tried to hide the sulky expression on his face by eating another donut.

"We're going to need the Ward Room for a planning session.  Grab yourself another donut or two and then scoot," Bridger ordered.  "Make sure you get something healthy for lunch, or Westphalen will skin me alive."  He waited until Lucas had wrapped all the chocolate frosted donuts in a napkin and walked to the door before adding, "Good work, Kiddo."

*~*~*~*~*~

**10:30, Sunday, November 18, 2018, _seaQuest DSV 4600_ , Launch Bay **

Chief Crocker checked his weapon.  The four security men with him, Shan, Mars, Cho, and Olden, did likewise.

"Where's mine?" Lt. Cmdr. Katie Hitchcock asked.

"Sir, I do not want you on this team," Crocker told her as respectfully as possible.

"Because I'm a woman?" the brunette asked.

"No, sir, because you're emotionally involved," Crocker said.

"Ben and I have been divorced for years.  I'm not emotionally involved," she lied.  "But he was there to rescue me at Broken Ridge.[1]  I owe him this."

Chief Crocker pulled up his left pant leg and reached for his back-up piece.  Removing the gun from its ankle holster, he handed it to her.  "Just don't do anything stupid, Commander.  I don't want to have to rescue both of you."

"You won't."  She led the rescue party onto the launch.

Ten other crew members were already aboard the launch.

"What's the hold-up?" O'Neill asked.  "We were scheduled to leave five minutes ago.  I don't want to be late to San Pedro."  Then he got a good look at the six who had just come on board:  the chief engineer, the chief of security, and four security men, all openly armed.  Crocker and his men wore MP armbands over their uniform sleeves.  "Oh."

Crocker pushed the intercom button.  "We're good to go, Carleton."

"Aye, Chief, departing now," the launch pilot's deep voice came over the intercom.

Hitchcock sat next to O'Neill.  "San Pedro?"

"San Pedro Pescador -- St. Peter the Fisherman," the communications officer translated automatically.  "It's the only Roman Catholic church for several hundred miles."  He glanced again at her weapon, then lowered his voice.  "What's wrong, or shouldn't I ask?"

"Krieg's AWOL.  Seriously AWOL," Hitchcock replied.

O'Neill looked at the security team.  Bailing Krieg out of jail would only take one person.  Six people with guns -- that was a rescue mission.  He said nothing for a minute.  He hadn't been to a real Catholic mass in months.  On the other hand, Ben Krieg was his friend.  "Do you need help?"

Hitchcock's pale blue eyes widened at the offer.  She knew how important his faith was to O'Neill, and she could guess how long it had been since he'd been to church.  He was a stereotypical techno-geek:  scrawny, bespectacled, the traditional ninety-eight pound weakling waiting for a bully to kick sand in his face at the beach.  PO Mars could probably pick him up with one hand and tie him into a pretzel with the other hand.  Yet despite that, O'Neill was volunteering to help.  She saw the rosary in his left hand.  "Yes, you can."  She reached over and placed her right hand over his left.  "Say a prayer for Ben."

*~*~*~*~*~

**11: 08, Sunday, November 18, 2018, Las Ballenas Base**

Jessie looked up from cleaning the bar as the security team from _seaQuest_ walked in.  "Well, hey, there.  What can I get you?  Beer, whisky?" She glanced at Cho and Shan.  "Got some nice _saki._ "

Petty Officers Cho and Shan traded a weary look with each other, but said nothing.  They were used to gringos not being able to tell different nationalities of Asians apart.

"Looking for a shipmate of ours who came here," Crocker told her.  "Name of Ben Krieg."

"Sorry, sailor," Jessie shook her head.  "They come in, they buy their drinks, they leave.  They never bother to introduce themselves."

"Tall fellow, dark hair, blue eyes," Crocker described him.  "I can show you a picture."

"After a while, they all look alike.  Sorry, honey, I got no memory for faces," Jessie told him.

The security team spread out.  Mars and Olden stood near the cardplayers in the corner.  Shan blocked the door.  Cho wandered over to the exit with the sign that said 'restrooms.'  Hitchcock went to the far end of the bar.

"What's with all these watches?" Hitchcock gestured at the glass case, full of Inmate Eighty's stock.

"Been there for a while," Jessie fibbed.  "Sometimes customers can't pay their tab."

Hitchcock bent down and took a closer look.  Most of the watches looked brand new.  One, a diver's watch,  was slightly scuffed.  It looked familiar.  She drew her pistol and broke the glass with the butt.

"Hey, you can't do that!" Jessie protested.

Hitchcock reached in and removed the watch.  She turned it over.  She inhaled sharply when she saw the engraving.  Chief Crocker stepped over by her to take a look.

"KH heart BK.  Xmas 2010," Crocker read aloud.  '"Mistletoe forever."

"I'm KH," Hitchcock announced.  "Where's BK?"

"I don't know," Jessie lied.  "Guess he couldn't afford his bar bill."

 "I gave that to him for our first Christmas together.  He wouldn't have traded it for a scotch and soda," Hitchcock informed her in a low, cold voice.  "Now where is he?"

"How should I know where he is?" Jessie stalled.

"Funny thing.  That security camera outside?" Crocker pointed outside.  "It shows him coming in here Wednesday evening.  It doesn't show him leaving.  Either he's still here, or you know where he is."

"Boys!" Jessie called in a half-panicked tone.

The two cardplayers laid down their cards.  They started to rise and reach for their guns.

Mars shook his head.  Despite his UEO uniform, he looked like an African warrior god, big and strong and incredibly dangerous.  His hand rested on his gun butt.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Olden warned.  He was only slightly smaller than Mars, and looked just as tough.

"Got three choices here, ma'am," Crocker announced.  "You can tell me what I want to know.  We can go down to base security, and it'll take a little longer, but you'll still tell me what I want to know.  Or," he jerked a thumb at Hitchcock, "I can set her loose on you.  Which is it going to be?"

Jessie paled.

*~*~*~*~*~

**12: 15, Sunday, November 18, 2018, Las Ballenas Base**

Nathan Bridger paced in front of the security chief's office.  He looked up when the door opened, but it wasn't the security chief of Las Ballenas.  It was Lt. O'Neill, along with the four crewmen who'd gone to San Pedro Pescador and the five crewmen who'd gone to Amazing Grace Missionary Baptist Church.  The entire group stood at attention.  O'Neill, as the highest ranking one among them, saluted for all of them.  

Bridger returned the salute.  "At ease.  What are you doing here?"

"Sir, we came to help," O'Neill announced.

Bridger permitted a half-smile to escape his lips.  He knew he had the best crew in the entire UEO fleet; times like this proved it.  "Castle, Lewis, Juarez, assist Crocker in guarding that harridan over there," he told the women.  "Davidov, Jones, Pevensie, you're with Mars.  Del Vecchio, Burke, Virdon, with Olden.  Hitchcock, O'Neill, you're with me."

His crew divided themselves up as he'd ordered, providing extra security for the three prisoners.  Hitchcock, Bridger reasoned, had earned the right to be with him when he confronted the security chief ... if the man ever got there.  As for O'Neill, he'd be of more use as an aide than as a security guard.  Some people were impressed by officers who were important enough to need aides when they travelled.  Bridger never had been himself, but maybe the base security chief thought that way. 

The door opened again, and a dark-haired, middle-aged man stepped in.  His brown eyes widened at the sight of twenty people crammed into his outer office, seventeen of them in UEO uniforms and the three in civilian clothes handcuffed.  "I'm Chief Aquino."

"Captain Nathan Bridger.  Can we talk in your office?"

"Certainly.  But all of you won't fit," the blue-uniformed man warned, speaking with a Tagalog accent.

"Chief Crocker, we'll need you."  Bridger glanced at the group.  Ensign Alexis Castle[2] was the only other officer.  "Castle, keep an eye on things."

"Aye, sir," t young redhead replied.

Bridger caught Mars' eye.  The look he bestowed on the petty officer told him that although Castle might outrank him, he was in charge of the prisoners.  Mars nodded, very slightly, accepting and acknowledging the silent order.

Security Chief Ramon Aquino led the way into his private office, followed by Bridger, Crocker, Hitchcock, and O'Neill.

"Now, what's going on?" Aquino demanded.  "I just got out of church -- I haven't even had lunch yet -- and I was told I needed to report to my office."  He glanced at O'Neill.  "Didn't I just see you at --"

O'Neill nodded.

Bridger introduced his people quickly.  There were two chairs in front of the desk.  Without waiting for an invitation, the captain sat in one and gestured to Hitchcock to take the other.  Crocker and O'Neill stood behind him at parade rest, one on either side.  "One of my crewman is missing.  He was on seventy-two hour leave, so we didn't worry about him until a few hours ago.  I sent my security chief," he nodded at Crocker,  "to go fetch him.  We found out he'd last been seen going into a bar run by that woman out there.  He hasn't been seen since."

"And how did you find that out?" Aquino asked.

"One of my crewmen hacked into your security cameras," Bridger confessed.  He didn't bother mentioning that Lucas had been ordered to do so.  "I apologize for his actions.  I'll have a word with him about the ethics of computer hacking once we get Lt. Krieg back."  The word would probably be 'good job,' but he didn't mention that to Aquino, either.

Crocker removed a data cube from his pocket.  "This shows Lt. Krieg entering the bar run by Jessie Eoff.  The security camera does not show him leaving by the front door, nor was Lt. Krieg picked up on any other security camera over the next three days.  I checked the cameras at the docking bay twice.  My people and I questioned Ms. Eoff as to the lieutenant's whereabouts.  She denied knowing where he was at first, but then admitted he might have gone to Jericho."

"The docking bay cameras do show some very large crates -- large enough to fit a man in -- being loaded into the supply sub for Jericho," Bridger added.

"I ought to be angry with you for the security camera business," Aquino said calmly, "if it weren't for the fact that it might help me convince Mayor Macaraeg that we need tighter security on the docking bays.  Besides, if I remember correctly, you're due to leave in a few hours, right?"

"Our originally scheduled departure time was," Bridger glanced at his watch, "about forty minutes from now.  Only reason we didn't set sail this morning was to give my people a chance to attend divine services.  Now, I'm staying as long as it takes to get some information about this Jericho."

Aquino steepled his fingers together.  "Jericho Mining Base has an odd reputation.  Nothing you can put your finger on, but ... odd.  Very few of their people come here on R&R, but they buy supplies for a large group of workers.  L. B. is the hub for everyone nearby -- mines, colonies, farms, etc.  -- everyone comes here for supplies and R&R.  We started as a hydroponics station, and officially we're primarily a science base, but economically providing for the miners and aquaculturalists is our mainstay.  We're the only place to go in a reasonable distance.  Yet Jericho has never sent more than a handful people over here, and most miners are eager for a place to spend their pay.  And the ones who do come, don't talk.  They don't try to recruit new miners.  They don't complain about the pay, or their boss.  They just don't talk."

"Is Jericho Mining Base officially affiliated with any confederation?" Bridger asked.

"Officially, they're wildcatters, but they're within territory claimed by both the Philippine Republic and the Malaysian Confederation," Aquino said.

"Both of those are members of the UEO."  Bridger smiled, but it was the sort of smile a shark might use when sighting a school of tuna.  "That puts them under our jurisdiction."

"And the prisoners in the outer office?" Aquino asked, raising a thick, bushy black eyebrow.

"Ms. Eoff had stolen property in her possession."  Hitchcock pulled her ex-husband's watch out of her pocket.  "I tried to ask her a simple question about it, and she called to the two men in there, who attempted to draw weapons on us."

"We were obliged to defend ourselves," Crocker added.

"Well, obviously, I'm going to have to file charges on such a serious matter.  But if I don't get home for lunch, my wife will have my head.  I'll just have my people put them on ice until I can deal with the matter personally.  And of course," he winked one brown eye at Bridger, "by then you'll have already left.  Time and tide, eh, Captain?"

Bridger stood up and extended his hand to Aquino.  "Thank you, sir.  You've been very helpful."

Aquino took his hand and shook it.  "As I said, providing R &R is the major element of our economy.  It's in our best interests to stay on good terms with the UEO fleet.  And if you send me a copy of your data, I'll not only overlook the hacking, but I might be able to convince the mayor that we really do need tighter security at our docking bays."

 *~*~*~*~*~

**14:36, Sunday, November 18, 2018, _seaQuest DSV 4600_ , Bridge **

"What do your Whiskers tell you, Chief?" Bridger asked Ortiz.

Chief Sonar Tech Ortiz was as much an artist with the WSKRS, or Wireless Sea Knowledge Retrieval Satellites, as Itzhak Perlman or Alasdair Fraser were with the violin.  "It's like Broken Ridge, sir.  Multiple docking bays, apparently at the end of mining tunnels."

Bridger nodded.  "So the ore can go directly from the mine to a cargo sub, instead of being taken to a central location first."  He turned to his security chief.  "Chief Crocker, assemble your teams.  I want one launch at each docking bay.  If they don't let us in when we knock on the front door politely, then we'll go in the back doors."

"And if they do let us in?" Crocker asked.

"Block the back doors so they can't get out, and be prepared to go in on my word."

"Aye, sir."  Crocker nodded.

"Nobody messes with my crew.  Krieg may be a pain in the neck sometimes, but he's our pain in the neck," Bridger declared.  He turned back to Ortiz.  "Can they hear us yet?"

"No, sir,  not unless they've got really good scanners, and frankly, I doubt an outfit like this could afford military grade sensors," Ortiz replied.

O'Neill asked, "Shall I hail them?"

"Not yet.  Not until the boarding parties are ready and waiting at the docking bays."  Bridger frowned.  "Although they'll probably hail us before we get that close."

Bridger didn't like waiting, but like it or not, patience was a necessary skill for a submariner, and one he'd developed over the years.    So he brought his boat closer to Jericho, so she could catch up with the WSKRS.  On the bridge, silence reigned. 

Bridger waited until they were closer, then deployed the launches.  He waited five minutes, then ten.  When the launches were nearly to the docking bays, he asked, "Have they hailed us yet?"

"No, sir," O'Neill replied.

"They know we're here, don't they?"

"There's no way they couldn't know, but they're not hailing us yet," O'Neill said.

Bridger gestured to Ford, and the XO walked over to him.  "If a great big boat were heading for your base, with three smaller boats heading for your auxiliary docking bays, wouldn't you ask who they were and what they wanted?"

"I think I'd be curious," Ford allowed.

"Mr. Ford, I do believe they're ignoring us."

"At a hundred sixty-six fathoms long, we're a little hard to ignore," Ford pointed out.

"Mr. O'Neill, open a channel," Bridger ordered.

"Attention, Jericho Mining Base, this is _seaQuest._ Attention, Jericho, this is _seaQuest._ "  He repeated the hail two more times, then turned to face the captain.  "No response, sir."

"Either their communications system is down, or else they're not very friendly," Bridger said quietly.

"If Ben were here," Hitchcock took a deep breath before continuing, "he'd probably say their mothers told them never to talk to strangers."

Bridger smiled.  "He probably would."  He signalled O'Neill.  The dark-haired young lieutenant pressed the appropriate buttons so that the captain could now hail the base directly.  "Attention, Jericho Base.  This is Captain Nathan Bridger of the UEO vessel _seaQuest_.  My exact weapons complement is classified, but I assure you, it's more than enough to blow your base to rubble.  Did you want to talk to me now, or  after I fire my torpedoes?"

The viewscreen changed from the UEO logo  of a trident superimposed over a globe to a middle-aged man with thinning hair.  "This is a civilian base!  You can't threaten us."

"If you want to lodge a complaint with the UEO's Public Relations office, I'd be happy to give you the vidlink code."  Bridger stared at the man.  He wore a suit and tie, not the rough clothes a miner would wear.  "With whom am I speaking?"

"Roscoe P. Morin.  Judge Morin," he introduced himself.  "You have no jurisdiction here, Captain.  This is an independent base.  You have no right to threaten us.  You can't board us without a warrant or an invitation, and you don't have either."

"What I have, Judge, is a missing crewman, and I've been informed he's on your base."  In contrast to Morin's blustering, Bridger kept his voice calm. 

"Well, Captain, sailors aren't overpaid.  Sometimes they jump ship and try for the fast money mining.  We don't ask a man if he used a different name before he applied for a job here or if he gave his two-week notice before leaving his last job."  Morin spread his hands  apart in a what-can-you-do-about-it gesture.  "An AWOL sailor isn't worth this much fuss."

Bridger signalled to Ford.  Ford nodded, then quietly relayed orders to Crocker and the boarding parties.

"If you don't mind, we'll come take a look for ourselves."  Bridger's voice was still even and reasonable.

"We do mind.  We've got nothing to hide," Morin lied, "but it's a matter of principle.  The UEO can not trample the independents underfoot."

"It's a matter of principle for me, too.  One of my men is missing.  I want him back."  Bridger leaned forward in his chair, just the hint of a note of menace in his tone of voice.

The viewscreen on _seaQuest_ showed  a gray-uniformed man come up to Morin.

 "One moment, please." Morin cut the sound on his end.  The man in gray told Morin something.  Judging by his reactions, it wasn't good news. 

Morin resumed communications.  "Your people are invading my mine!"

Bridger corrected him gently, "I have MPs looking for an AWOL sailor.  Purely SOP."

"SOP?  Forcing your way onto a peaceful mining operation is hardly standard operating procedure!"  Morin played his trump card.  "The press will crucify you.  A great big warship like yours attacking a teeny little base.  You'll be court-martialled."

Bridger pointed to his gray hair.  "See this?  My career's almost over.  I don't care what the press says or does.  I do care about my missing crewman."

Two gunshots could be heard in the background.

"What was that?" Morin demanded.

"Gunfire," the gray-uniformed guard beside him replied.

"It sounds like my MPs are having a little trouble," Bridger observed.  "Giving them trouble is not a good idea, Judge Morin.  It would be in your best interests to cooperate."

"Sir, incoming message from Chief Crocker," O'Neill announced.

Bridger nodded.  O'Neill cut the sound on Morin, although still listening himself.  Then he connected Chief Crocker.

"Cap, this is either a penal colony or a forced labor camp," Crocker's voice came over the comlink.  "Couple guards -- we're taking care of them -- and lots of miners.  The miners are all shackled."

"Any sign of Krieg yet?"

"Not yet, but we're still looking," Crocker reported.

"See if you can persuade one of the people there to tell you where he is," Bridger suggested.

"Cap, you read my mind.  Crocker out."

Bridger nodded to O'Neill.  Morin's voice resumed over the comlink in mid-sentence; he didn't even know he'd been cut off.

"Ready torpedoes," Bridger ordered.

"Torpedoes?" Morin repeated.  "You can't -- you'll kill everyone. You --"

"I'm placing Jericho Mining Base under martial law," Bridger announced. "You can cooperate, or you can face the consequences."

Morin's face went pale.  Abruptly he cut communications.

"Mr. Ortiz, I expect a mini-sub to be attempting to leave the base momentarily.  I doubt they'll be able to get past Crocker and his men, but just in case, have your Whiskers watching and listening."

"Aye, sir."

*~*~*~*~*~

**15:25, Sunday, November 17, 2018, Jericho Mining Colony**

"Weapons down!" CPO William Shan ordered.

The guards and miners turned.  There stood five UEO men and women, all armed, all pointing their guns at them.  The guards started to raise their rifles.

"Weapons down, hands up," Shan ordered.  After a few seconds' hesitation, the guards obeyed.  The prisoners cheered, until Shan continued, "Pickaxes down, too."

Petty Officers Hartnell and Troughton collected the guards' rifles and the prisoners' tools.  Then they handcuffed the guards.

"We're looking for Lt. Krieg.  Where is he?" Shan demanded.

"The new guy?  He really was a UEO officer, like he claimed?" one of the miners asked.

The two guards looked at each other, but said nothing.

"Where is he?" Shan repeated.  An ugly expression marred his normally handsome face.

"He's in the cooler," one of the prisoners said.

"Again," another added.

"Show me," Shan ordered.

"Hey!  How about unlocking us?" one of the miners demanded.

Shan's dark eyes darted between the miners and the guards.  "If I do, you'll slaughter them."

"Damn straight we will," another of the miners agreed.

"Pevensie, Garcia, keep an eye on them."  Shan pointed to the handcuffed guards and the miners.  "The captain's going to want people kept alive for the trial; don't let them do anything.  Troughton, Hartnell, you're with me.  Now, who can show me where the cooler is?"

*~*~*~*~*~

**15:35, Sunday, November 17, 2018, Jericho Mining Colony**

Krieg looked down at the body of Inmate Seventy-Three, and wondered how hungry you had to be before you got desperate enough for cannibalism.  He'd died twenty minutes after they'd been put in the cooler, despite Krieg's best efforts to save him.  Krieg didn't even know his name.

He heard voices above and looked up.  He really didn't want to go back to the 'sir, yes, sir' routine, but the corpse was getting pretty ripe.  And he was hungry enough to dig tungsten, if that's what it took to get a meal.

"Krieg!  Lt. Krieg!"

"Down here," he yelled.

A minute later he saw heads looking down into the pit.  "You all right, sir?"

"Been better," Krieg confessed.  The rope ladder was lowered.  "What took you guys so long?"  Krieg began climbing up, but in his weakened condition, he slipped and fell back into the pit.

"Hang on, I'm coming down," Shan called out.  He nimbly scurried down the ladder.  "You all right, sir?"  He glanced at Inmate Seventy-Three's body, and realized there was nothing he could do to help him.

"Just bruised.  And tired, and hungry," Krieg confessed.  "Don't suppose you've got a candy bar in your pocket, Shan?"

"Sorry, Lieutenant, no, but Dr. Westphalen will give you a big bowl of chicken noodle soup in Medbay," Shan promised.  "You go first.  I'll help you up."  He tied a climber's rope between himself and Krieg.

"And here I thought you were experienced.  Didn't you ever read George Bernard Shaw, Chief?"

"Not since I got out of school, sir."  Shan wondered if Krieg was bordering on delirium, bringing up British playwrights at a time like this.

"In Arms and the Man, Shaw said the young, green soldiers carry bullets, but the old, experienced ones have chocolate.  'You can always tell an old soldier by the inside of his holsters and cartridge boxes.  The young ones carry pistols and cartridges, the old ones, grub'."

*~*~*~*~*~

**17:47, Sunday, November 17, 2018, _seaQuest DSV 4600,_ Medbay**

"You had us worried, Lieutenant," a familiar voice said.

Krieg opened his eyes.  Captain Bridger was standing above him. 

"Sorry, did I wake you?" the captain asked.

"It's okay." He smiled weakly.

"Dr. Westphalen says you'll be fine with a little rest," Bridger told him.  "We're on our way to the Philippines.  Our guests in the brig will be turned over to the UEO base in Manila.  You'll need to give a deposition for the trial."

"With pleasure, Skipper.  How are the other prisoners?"

"The miners?  Mostly weak and malnourished.  Dr. Westphalen expects to have them all fit to testify by the time we reach Manila."

Krieg closed his eyes, and for a minute Bridger thought he was going to fall back asleep.  After a long minute,  he opened them again.  His blue eyes looked up earnestly at the captain.  "Thanks for the rescue.  I knew you'd come."   

Bridger reached out and gently touched Krieg's shoulder, in a silent 'you're welcome,' being careful not to disturb the IVs.

"Y'know, sir, Manila's got some pretty good R&R facilities.  Any chance of a replacement seventy-two hour leave, since I didn't get a chance to enjoy this one?" Krieg asked.

Bridger shook his head.  "No more leaves for you, Ben, not for a while.  Too dangerous."

*~*~*~*~*~

~*~*~*~*

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[1] In the episode "seaWest," guest-starring David McCallum.

[2] Yes, this is Rick Castle's little girl all grown up.


End file.
